First Impressions
by amaXdear
Summary: The name of the game is 'See How Long It Takes To Scare Away Collins' Rich, Important Father And His New Family Without Giving In To Awkward Silences.' Have fun--strike that. So sorry, we're on hiatus.
1. MLM

Angel Dumott-Schunard considered himself a cheerful man, unless of course she was considering herself a cheerful woman. He had reason to be, too. He had loving friends, he liked living in New York City, and he was content with the way people treated him. Really, what was there to be upset about?

Still, even he had issues with someone knocking on his door at three o'clock in the morning on a Saturday when he had only gotten two hours of alcohol-induced sleep. Moaning pitifully, he asked Collins to pretty please get the door, sugar-pie honey-darling.

"No."

Angel swore at him for a full minute in Spanish, and continued cursing under his breath as he got up. With a sigh, he put on a semblance of a smile and greeted the unwelcome guest.

"Can I help you?" he yawned.

For a second, the man just stared. He was probably fifty or sixty, black, with graying hair and a neat moustache, and he stood ramrod-straight. Angel could already tell that this man was his opposite--he was wearing a prim suit like a lawyer, way too expensive for any Alphabet City resident, while Angel's pajamas were pink plaid pants and a tee-shirt. The visitor eyed the clothes warily.

"Look, honey, it's practically midnight. You want to complain about what I'm wearing, come back later."

"I'm sorry, I must have the wrong address," he stuttered. "I'm looking for Thomas Collins; do you know where I could find him?"

"Sure, he's here. Come in--I'll see if I can wake him up."

Mysterious Lawyer Man obeyed, following Angel into the apartment and sitting on the armchair somewhat reluctantly. Angel entered the tiny bedroom to begin the arduous task of waking his sleeping ass of a boyfriend who had people visiting him way too early in the morning.

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty," he crooned sweetly. "You've got a visitor." Collins groaned and Angel dropped the lovable act, throwing a shoe at his one true love. "Come on, up and at 'em. He looks sort of like a lawyer. What did you do _this_ time?"

"Nothing," Collins mumbled. He pushed himself up, blinking blearily. "Do I have to?" he asked, begging with those cute crinkly eyes of his. Angel sighed. He was a sucker for those eyes.

"Yes, _mi_ _rey_, you do. Get up, and I'll make some tea. See how much I love you?" He threw up his hands dramatically and stalked from the room.

"_Te amo tambien, mi reina!" _Collins called happily. MLM looked confused. He probably didn't speak Spanish. Oh well. **(I love you to, my queen.)**

"He'll be right out," Angel assured him with a friendly smile. "Would you like anything? Tea, coffee, water?"

"Oh no, I wouldn't want to bother--"

"It's no problem. I was going to make some tea anyway."

"Thank you," MLM said stiffly, after a slight pause.

Angel hummed to himself as he made the tea, picking out three random mugs. He wondered why MLM seemed so uncomfortable. Maybe he had caught sight of the sewing machine in the corner of the living room and was wondering why two men would be working on a pink skirt made of, for the most part, sequins and lace. Or perhaps Angel had left the purple thong out in the open again. (Collins, being the jokester that he was, thought gag gifts were sexy for some un-understandable reason.) It was even possible that MLM had finally noticed that it was a one-bedroom apartment.

"So, um, you're Tom's roommate?" the man called out politely.

Then again, maybe not.

Wickedly, Angel poured hot water into the mugs and decided to play a little game called 'See How Long it Takes for Mysterious Lawyer Man to Realize That Collins and Angel are Gayer than a Medieval French Feast.' This was going to be great.

"Yeah," he answered affirmatively as he carried the cups into the living room, sashaying just a little bit more than usual. "Since last Christmas."

"Hm." Angel placed the cup in front of him, and MLM took the tea bag out immediately. Weak tea means a weak mind, as Abuela used to say.

"You want cream or sugar, honey?" Angel asked cheerfully, refusing to acknowledge the awkwardness.

"No, thank you." Bitter tea means a bitter life, as Abuela also used to say.

Still, he returned to the kitchen to get Collins some sugar. He liked tea strong and sweet, while Angel preferred it creamy and sugary as hell. He hummed to himself as he re-entered and then re-exited the kitchen, then decided it wouldn't work. MLM didn't look like the theater guy, so he probably wouldn't recognize any of the many gay songs broke screenwriters came up with. Which was really too bad, because some of them were really funny, like that one about having a "girlfriend" who "lived in Canada."

Just as Angel was heading back to the living room, Collins finally emerged. Angel pointed to his cup and he nodded thanks, plopping down on the couch and smiling pleasantly. "Hi, I'm sorry I took--" He and MLM froze at the same second, and Angel sank sinuously next to Collins, curious. He reached for his cup of tea, wondering what would happen next. "Uh--Dad?"

"It's nice to see you, Tom."

Angel choked on his tea.

"_¿Qué? ¿__Su padre?" _he asked, voice rising an octave higher in surprise. **(What? Your father?)** Nobody answered, so he looked quickly at Collins, then at MLM, then back at Collins, and then back at MLM. Holy shit, there was resemblance. "_Ay mi dios_," he muttered, falling back onto the couch. His poor heart wasn't up to surprises like these.

"Yeah, um, you too. So, its been… awhile. What brings you to New York?" Collins asked, his voice stilted. He sounded so awkward.

"Business. My flight just got in, so I thought I'd drop by and say hello."

"Oh."

"Your grandmother said you would be here."

"You talked to her?"

"Briefly."

"Good." Long pause. "So I guess you already have a hotel, huh?"

"Yes. The company booked one."

"Good. Just, you know, making sure." Another long pause. Angel almost yawned, but that would be rude. Collins tried to gain a few seconds by taking a huge gulp of tea, looking at Angel with pleading eyes. Angel shrugged.

"¿_Qué quisieras que hiciera?_ _No me has dicho cualquier cosa sobre él_," he muttered, serenely sipping his own tea. **(What do you want me to do? You haven't told me anything about him.)**

"I'm engaged," MLM (real name still a mystery) said suddenly.

"Oh. That's--um, congratulations."

"Thank you. My fiancee and her son are in town, too. I'm sure they would like it if you could join us for lunch tomorrow."

"Thanks," Collins said, his thoughts whirling in his head. He needed a way out, now. "But actually I had plans with some friends already, I think…" Angel gave him a look. Not just _a_ look. Not a you-know-better-than-that look. No, my friend, this was a don't-even-think-about-it-or-no-sex-for-a-really-long-time look, and there was no way he could deny _that_. "But I have plans with them every day, so, um, sure, I guess."

"Excellent." More pausing.

Just then, and evil thought popped into Collins' head. He was such a genius.

"Do you think it would be all right if my girlfriend came too? I'm sure she'd love to meet everybody, and I sort of promised we would spend some time together this weekend."

Angel choked again.

"That would be nice. So, I suppose we'll meet you there at noon."

"Sure. Where?"

"Do you know the Paramount Hotel on West 46th Street?"

"Yes."

"It's across from there. I can't remember the name."

"I know where it is."

"Good."

"So…"

MLM cleared his throat. "Well, I suppose I should be going now."

"Okay."

"I'm sorry for interrupting so late."

"It's fine."

"Goodbye, Tom."

"Bye, Dad."

Without further ado, MLM stood and let himself out. Angel noticed that he hadn't take a single sip of his tea. No tea in your belly means no love in your heart, as Abuela used to say. _Hm_, Angel thought. _Maybe Abuela is a little too superstitious_. Or maybe she was right, and tea really was the answer to everything. Oh wait, there was a more important thing to discuss right now.

"What the hell was that?" he burst out.

"I think I just agreed to have you meet my dad."

"Yeah, I got that part. Why did he show up at three AM? And why didn't you recognize him at first? And why did he have to call your grandma to get your address? And why did he not guess that we were dating when there's only one bedroom? And-- and-- and why was he wearing a _grey_ tie?" Angel spluttered. "Who wears a _tie_ on a _plane_, let alone a _grey_ one? Oh, and why was he on a plane? And--"

Collins decided to shut Angel up in the nicest way possible. A sweet kiss turned into a deep kiss, which turned into a make-out session, which had turned into a groping session before Angel remembered he had questions.

"Hey! No fair!" he whined.

"Oops. Sorry, I was going to answer but I got distracted," Collins admitted. "Sit over there, I can't think straight around you."

"Too bad," Angel teased, settling into his lap. "You're comfy. Just don't get a boner, 'cause that's not too comfy. So, tell me."

"My parents got divorced when I was, I dunno, like six or something, and my dad moved to Connecticut so my mom got full custody. I lived with him for a month every summer and visited for New Year's until I was sixteen, but then he moved to England or France or something and we totally lost touch. And, um, my grandmother moved in with Mom and I after the divorce and we keep in touch so he'd probably rather call her than my mom to find me." He struggled to remember everything Angel had asked about. "He didn't notice we were gay because he kind of does that thing where if he doesn't totally understand or accept something he just skates over it, you know?"

"I know," Angel grimaced.

"Yeah. And he wears grey ties on planes because… because he's the chief financial officer for some big real estate company and that's what they do, they wear ties and suits and stuff."

"Oh. So he's not a lawyer?"

"No."

"I've been calling him Mysterious Lawyer Man in my head."

Collins smiled fondly. That was Angel for ya. "His name is Joseph Bawl. He's neat and orderly and rich and polite and oh God, why are you making me go?"

"Why are _you_ making _me_ go?"

"Because you were making me go!"

"That is so childish, Thomas," Angel huffed, crossing his arms and sticking up his nose.

"Because if you're there it makes everything so much better," Collins corrected hastily. "And because you're sweet and sexy and beautiful and unbelievably gorgeous, so I want to spend every single second of every minute of every hour of… etc, etc, etc, because I love you and I can't stand to be apart from you, babygirl."

Angel pondered this for a second, and twisted around in Collins' lap, pressing his lips to his jaw. "Good enough," he muttered. "Go ahead and get that boner, babe, we might as well do something since we're both up at this ungodly hour, hm?"

"Angel, I love the way you think," Collins grinned. Angel smirked.

"I do too, honey. I do too."

* * *

**Hiya, peeps. This is the first chaptered fic I've done since leaving the Ghost Hunt fandom so, so very long ago, so please don't get impatient if it takes a little while to update. Reviews are the platforms to my Angel.**


	2. Dressing For Battle

"Drag or normal?"

"Drag."

"Long hair or bob?""

"Bob."

"Black or blonde?"

"Black."

"Trashy or classy?"

At this, Collins had to pause. He didn't consider any of Angel's clothes to be trashy, and she knew that, but there was a significant choice to make in terms of skirt length. The question was, would Joseph and his family be ready for the full Angel Dumott-Schunard random-bouts-of-singing, flashy-outfits experience?

"Classy," he said slowly. "Just because I'm afraid that the restaurant might have a dress code. It's in that kind of area."

"Yeah, I guess. Oh well," Angel sighed dramatically. "There will be plenty of opportunities to scare them later, I suppose."

He disappeared into the closet, and Collins started shuffling through the dresser. All of his clothes were in the dresser; there just wasn't room in the closet for anything except Angel's stuff. She let him hang his jackets in there, though, as long as a separate drawer was set aside for her leggings.

Collins pulled out a pair of jeans and looked mournfully at his beloved tee-shirts and flannels. He should probably make a good impression. Instead, he picked a purple collared shirt that Angel liked. He wondered if maybe he should find a jacket, too, but that would mean invading the sacred closet. Well, he was feeling brave today. So, with a deep breath and a quick prayer, he entered.

Now, the closet wasn't exactly tiny, but it wasn't meant to be a walk-in room. It also wasn't meant to hold six pairs of shoes, fourteen jackets/sweaters, eleven dresses, seventeen shirts, four Styrofoam wig-holding heads, and twenty-two skirts. Or the above plus two grown men, unless of course one of the men happened to stand very very close, wrap his arms around his half-dressed lover, and rest his chin on said lover's shoulder. Angel smiled and covered Collins' hand with his own, resting lightly on his stomach.

"Need something, mi rey? Or didja just miss me?"

Of course there was only one answer to that question. "Missed you."

Angel rolled his eyes, not buying it, and plucked a tan suit jacket off of its hanger. "Wear this, it makes you look smart. Do you think it would be too cheesy if we matched just a little bit? Because I was thinking of wearing the black boat-neck with the purple skirt…"

Collins made a face. "I hate it when you wear black shirts," he grumbled. "It makes you look so… pale."

"Aw, poor baby. What's the matter, you don't like white girls?" Angel teased.

He laughed, squeezing Angel tighter and kissing his neck. "Let's just say I prefer my warm and spicy Latina to a pale sickly little girl, okay? You look more alive when you glow."

"Fine, then what would _you_ recommend?" Angel asked, rolling his eyes.

"Blue, maybe. Or red."

"Ooh!" Angel broke away and dove into a rack of clothes. After a few seconds of rummaging, he pulled out a bright red shirt that Collins had never seen before. Aside from a few sequins on the neck, it was very simple. Nice. "Do you have a problem with black skirts, too, or may I?"

"Oh, I like that," Collins approved.

"Me too," Angel said fondly. "Mimi gave it to me."

"When?" he asked, surprised. He didn't remember ever seeing it before, and usually Angel liked to show off gifts.

"Well, I stole it. It looked just awful on her, really. She looks best in darker colors, and besides, nobody ever would have said she had the best ass below fourteenth street if she wore shapeless things like this. However, with the right accessories, it can create all the right curves on _moi_. Now out, I have to make myself beautiful."

"I've been meaning to talk to you about that fourteenth street thing. How long ago was that officially determined? Because I don't think it's all that accurate."

"Thomas B. Collins, what are you implying?" Angel smirked, flipping through the skirt section.

"I am implying that Mimi ain't gone nothing on you, girl. Except maybe her breasts, and who really cares about that?"

"Straight men and lesbians," Angel chuckled.

"Oh, them." Collins dismissed half of their friends with a wave of his hand. Smiling to himself, Angel turned and locked his arms around Collins' neck.

"I appreciate, mi rey," he said softly. "But Mimi and I have an agreement. She's allowed to have the best ass as long as we admit I have the best legs. That's fair, isn't it?" He tilted his head in a particularly adorable manner and brushed the soft spot on the back of Collins' neck.

"Mmm…" How was he supposed to pay attention when Angel's lips were so damn close?

"Great. So why don't you leave so I can get pretty, okay?" Angel cooed.

"Sure, baby… wait, what?"

Angel laughed, pushing Collins out the door with a subtle ass pat. "Thank you for valuing my privacy, love. I'll be right out."

And so, Collins found himself outside, alone, staring at a closed door, with a tan blazer folded over his arm.

"Damn. How the hell did that happen?" he asked aloud.

Angel only laughed again.

(---)

"Collins? I'm not bringing you food if you don't wake up," Angel said sternly, prodding him in the ribs. Collins opened his eyes and tried to climb out from their couch. It was difficult; half the springs were broken and it was way overstuffed.

"Wasn't asleep," he yawned. His eyes widened. "Wow. You look--"

"Sophisticated? Elegant? Gorgeous?" she supplied, giggling and striking a pose.

Collins grinned. "Sexy."

Angel laughed, flipping her hair. It had to be the black nylons. Why knows why, but a lot of men had a thing for black nylons. Compared with the strappy platforms… he was right. There was almost too much hotness. "And you know, I really, really like this necklace," she said with a wink. Collins grinned. A small jeweled daisy hung from her neck--birthday gift.

"Me too, mi reina. In fact, you don't need to wear anything at all except for that necklace and you'd still be the most gorgeous girl in the room, and I think we should just stay home so I can tell you just how _much_ I like it."

"I don't think so."

He sighed. "In that case, we'd better get a cab or we are going to be way more than fashionably late."

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**Don't worry, lunch is the next chapter cuz it was way too long to fit in here. I have officially declared Wednesday update day, so please no begging. My decisions are final...ish. Reviews are the hand-crafted beers to my local brewery.**


	3. The Angel Collins Adventures

Fifteen minutes, two angry drivers, and a heart attack later, the couple was bursting into laughter outside the Broadway Steakhouse.

"There is no way that speed was legal!" Angel exclaimed, pretending to be outraged. "That jackass just took _another_ ten years off my life expectancy. Damn him."

Collins chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they entered the restaurant. "Don't worry, Ang, I'm sure you'll be fine. If we survive this, of course."

"I'm more worried for you than me. This is going to be so awkward."

"Yeah," he sighed. "I haven't even gotten a Christmas card from the man in half a decade and suddenly we're family. I wonder what my new _brother_ is going to be like." Relatives, ew.

Collins told the stuffy old host his name, and they were led to a table in the corner. A few startled eyes followed them as they walked past; every man in the room was wearing a tie, and every woman was mature, respectable, and biologically female. Angel and Collins exchanged uncomfortable glances.

Joseph--wearing a green tie today, how exciting--was sitting next to his fiancée, a blonde woman in her early forties. Angel had to wrinkle her nose at the woman's shirt; it was baby blue. There was no other color she despised as much as baby blue… except maybe beige. The woman's ankle-length skirt was beige.

Collins nearly groaned aloud when he caught sight of his new stepbrother. He was, at most, ten years old, wearing khakis, a polo shirt, and a pout. Sympathetic, Angel reached up to squeeze the hand draped over her shoulder.

"It's one afternoon, honey, it won't kill you."

"That's what you think," he muttered, putting on a half-hearted smile as his father stood.

"It's good to see you again, Tom," Joseph said, reaching to shake his son's hand. His fiancée stood and extended hers as well. "This is Jennifer Haywood, my fiancée, and her son, Blake."

In a startling imitation of the adults, Blake jumped up and stuck out a hand. Collins shook, and Angel became officially unnerved.

"Nice to meet you. This is my, um, girlfriend--"

"Hi. I'm Angel," she introduced herself cheerfully, bouncing into a chair. None of this official shake-n-bake stuff for her, thank you very much. There was a few seconds of awkward silence as City Slums and Country Estate observed each other--CS trying to look pleasantly oblivious and CE trying not to gape.

Finally Jennifer cleared her throat and sat down gracefully. She placed her napkin primly in her lap, folded hands covering it neatly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, I'm sure," she trilled softly. "Joseph has told me so much about you, Tom."

Collins doubted it, but he smiled politely. "Oh? I wish I could say the same. So is this your first time in New York?"

"Oh no, I visited once when I was a girl, but the city's changed so much since then." She paused as the waiter appeared to take their drink orders. Jennifer and Joseph both ordered white wine. Boring. Collins and Angel grimaced at the list of beers--all imported, ugh--and took a wild chance on water. Even that was full of snooty minerals and shit, but the only other option was Coke/Diet Coke, or, as Maureen liked to call it, the Snob of All Sodas.

Blake got sparkling grape juice. Seriously.

"How long have you lived here?" Jennifer asked.

"I've been bouncing back and forth for maybe… six years? Yeah, five or six. New York and I have a bit of a love-hate relationship," he grinned. CE smiled politely.

"That just means you're wishy-washy," Angel teased, shamelessly forcing herself into the conversation. "I moved here when I was fourteen and haven't left city limits once. Well, maybe once," she amended thoughtfully. "But not for very long, just a quick visit to see my parents."

This was, of course, a perfect leading statement, but nobody took advantage of it and Jennifer fell silent. Apparently, talking to her fiancé's estranged scruffy-looking son was one thing, but her fiancé's estranged scruffy-looking son's gender-bending lover was another thing entirely.

Everybody stared at each other for a moment, then took the opportunity to study the menu. Collins felt his heart sink as he searched in vain for tofu. Broiled steak, steak on the grill, steak and alfredo, steak burger, steak and vegetable soup. Even the salad was full of steak. It was a heart attack waiting to happen.

"¡Todo has carne!" Angel muttered. **(There's so much meat!)**

"Sé," Collins sighed. **(I know.)** He set the menu aside for the moment and tried to make conversation. "What do you do for a living, Jennifer?" he asked, grabbing a subject out of thin air. Even if it was a boring one.

"She's a stay at home mom," her son answered immediately. "What do you do?" He sounded almost accusing, like he expected the answer to be 'Sell drugs to small children' or 'Pick up dog crap in the park,' or 'Nothing.' Collins immediately disliked the kid, and pondered his answer for a second. 'Angel' would probably not get the best reaction, so he decided to actually answer the question straight.

"I'm a professor at New York University."

For the first time, Joseph woke up and took interest in the conversation. "Really? What subject?"

"Philosophy. Mostly introductory stuff, but I also teach an advanced existentialism course and the application of philosophy in liberal arts."

Angel smiled to herself, pleased by their stunned faces. This was probably the only subject where she was guaranteed, without a doubt, 100% smarter than the average individual. Over the summer, she had started asking Collins to teach her about philosophy--mostly because everybody else was fighting so they couldn't visit their friends without getting in the middle of it, and she had nothing better to do. Thankfully, he let her talk about the assignments instead of writing essays, and half of the lectures took place over ice cream or in bed on a lazy afternoon, so it was fun. Sometimes he tested lesson plans out on her, and she now understood almost everything about existentialism and the liberal arts. For a lunatic, that Nietzsche guy was pretty smart.

"That sounds useless," Blake remarked, gulping his sparkling grape juice. Collins twitched, and Angel resisted the urge to duck for cover.

"It is _not_ useless. I teach people how to think, how to perceive their surroundings and understand the very meaning of their existence. Philosophy shapes the foundation of art and the media, which has a direct influence on the formation of society. If society acted more with rational thought and less with their instincts or petty jealousies, then racism, sexism, and homophobia would no longer be issues in the modern-day world. Great minds--"

"Honey, we talked about this," Angel interrupted. "No lectures over meals and no debates with anybody under the age of eighteen, remember?"

"But--" She gave him a look. Collins sighed. "Oh, all right."

"Well, it's good to be, um, passionate, about one's job, I suppose," Jennifer said uneasily.

"Oh yeah, I love doing it. I mean there's always a few bratty kids who are obviously only going to school because Daddy's paying for it and that's a bitch, but every now and again you run across somebody who actually gives a damn." There was a slight gasp, and Jennifer bit her lip. What…? Oh yeah, the damn kid. Ah well, he'd hear it sometime, right?

The waiter made a timely appearance at that moment, and everybody ordered. Filet mignon, steak and chicken pasta, kid's steak fingers.

"Do you have _anything_ vegetarian?" Collins asked desperately.

"Yes, there's vegetable soup," he pointed out.

"Beef and vegetable soup."

"Oh. Um, caesar salad?"

"Fine. I'll get that, then. No anchovies."

"Same," Angel sighed.

"So you're a vegetarian?" Jennifer guessed. Wow.

"Yeah. Both of us are," Collins said, still disappointed in the lack of meatless meat balls.

"I didn't know that," Joseph said, surprised. Angel gave Collins a questioning look; he had told her he became a vegetarian when he was twelve, before Joseph moved. Shouldn't he have remembered something like that? Collins shook his head subtly. Why bother? "I'm sorry for choosing a restaurant like this, then," Joseph chuckled. Finally, the customer-pleasing businessman started to come out.

"It's no problem," Collins lied. He could sense yet another moment of silence approaching. _Come on, Collins, make some small talk, you can do it! You have a freakin' PhD, for God's sake! If you can chat with the dean at MIT you can talk to your own father. Damn, I hated that guy. He looked like a walrus…_

"So how long have you two been engaged?" Angel asked pleasantly, interrupting Collins' internal ramblings. It was the perfect subject; Jennifer practically lit up.

"Well we started dating sometime in May, I think, six years ago, and we've been engaged for almost two years now. Since Valentine's Day."

"That long?" Angel blurted out. Collins had proposed to her four months after they had first met and it wasn't even legal for them! Jennifer didn't seem to see anything odd about it. In fact, she even held Joseph's hand over the table.

"Yes. It seems like forever, some days."

Joseph smiled fondly, and Blake made a face. Ew, PDA. Both adults noticed and let go. It was obvious who wore the pants in this family.

Jennifer was warming up to Angel, just a little bit. After all, they were uncomfortable partners in the War Against Silence. So, she took a nervous sip of wine and asked, "How long have the two of you…?"

"Eleven months."

"Ten months and twenty-two days," Collins replied promptly. Angel looked at him, surprised, and he shrugged. "What? I'm right."

"You're sweet," she chuckled, patting his cheek fondly. Jennifer tried to pretend that she hadn't winced, and Joseph cleared his throat, taking a sip of wine. The little rich boy hadn't learned manners like that yet.

"Why do you do that?" he asked.

"Do what?" Angel asked with wide-eyed innocence.

"_That_," Blake elaborated, gesturing at her outfit. Collins wanted to put him in a headlock and stuff his body in a toilet for a few hours. Wasn't that what brothers were supposed to do when one of them was being an annoying inconsiderate little brat? Angel didn't take offense.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. So how did you meet?" she asked fluidly, addressing Joseph. About time someone else started talking.

"It was a cocktail party," he said, somewhat gruffly. "Jennifer's father owns a large amount of real estate in England and our companies recently became partners. I had been in the country for a few years before Jennifer started working with us, and the rest is history."

"Do have any plans for the wedding?" Angel asked, as if she had a vested interest in it.

"Not yet. It's not something we want to rush, really, but Jen has picked out a few dresses and things."

"Two years seems like a long time," Angel pointed out kindly.

"Not so long," Jennifer contradicted. She looked uncomfortable again. Then something in the window caught her eye. "Oh my goodness…"

"_What_ is that?" Brat--ah, Blake asked.

Angel looked over her shoulder and gasped, all the color leaving her face. In front of the window stood Mimi, in all her Cat-Scratch dancer, fishnet-mini-skirt-bra glory, arguing with Roger, while Maureen and Joanne made out against the glass and Mark danced around all of them, filming.

"Collins," she muttered.

"Oh, shit… um, excuse us."

"What's wrong?"

"We have to go--now," Collins said urgently, standing, as the host started heading for the door. If he and Angel didn't intervene immediately, there would be serious consequences.

"Some other time, maybe," Angel said apologetically, rushing after him.

And so, City Slums and Country Estate parted, both a little wiser and quite a bit confused about the world. Will they ever meet again? Tune in later for the next installment of the Angel/Collins Adventures.

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Yeah, I don't know what that little ad thingy at the end was, but I needed a conclusion. Not a huge fan of this chapter. Oh well. So, tune in! Reviews are the tango to my Maureen.


	4. The Relative Worth of the Word 'Family'

**A/N: Yes, I know I'm breaking my Wednesday rule... but ONLY because I won't have access to my computer tomorrow. You got lucky.**

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"WHAT are you guys doing?" Angel demanded.

"Saving Collins," Roger said simply. He stopped yelling at Mimi. In fact, he handed her a longer skirt and a jacket to cover her mostly-nakedness and kissed her cheek. Maureen and Joanne stopped making out, though they kept arms around each other. Mark kept filming.

Angel turned to glare at Collins, and he raised his hands like he was stopping traffic.

"This is all them, I _swear_."

"Yeah, Angel, the man's my best buddy. I can't just leave him to suffer!" Roger laughed.

"Oh, Roger, I love you," Collins fake-sobbed, hugging him tightly. Angel gave in with a small smile, poking her boyfriend in the back. Collins turned and hugged her instead. "But I love you more, my sympathetic angelic wonderfully sweet understanding delightful lover. So, so much more."

"Yeah right," she mumbled as he wrapped an arm around her waist. She glanced back at the Bawl/Haywood family worriedly. Angel didn't like abandoning people.

"Relax, baby, it's not like they really _want_ to talk to us anyway," Collins pointed out in a soothing voice. "And you can't tell me you were having fun."

"No, but… they're still your family."

"If you want to meet my family, my gran lives upstate. We'll invite her down for Christmas. Until then, let us enjoy life with our dear friends and perhaps share a platter of meatless spaghetti and meatballs, hm?" Angel bit her lip and Collins darted in, kissing her sweetly. "Come on, Ang," he coaxed.

"Fine," she sighed, and their friends cheered. "But if your gran's coming for Christmas than I get to invite my Grandpapi too."

"Deal."

"So be honest--how bad was it?" Joanne asked skeptically. She wasn't buying the whole doom-and-gloom thing; after all, Jo had dealt with the type on many occasions. Some of them weren't _all_ _that_ _bad_.

"Horrible."

"Not that bad," Angel contradicted sternly. "The kid was a real piece of work, though. I'm worried about Jennifer, too--six years and no wedding ring?"

"Geeze, talk about no day but tomorrow," Mimi snorted.

"Exactly! And it's just ridiculous how the boys just walked all over her. I mean, she's a stay at home mom planning her own wedding without the help of a man who obviously still has commitment issues, when all she's ever wanted is a nice simple family life, and her only child is growing up in this secluded little world because she can't bear to show him anything but perfection, because on the inside she really doesn't believe that she has any higher purpose than to dutifully better each person's life so she appears gentle and good in the eyes of a God she's hoping desperately exists." They stared at her, and she shrugged. "It's quite tragic, really."

"You got all of that out of half an hour?" Maureen asked, dumfounded. "Seriously?"

"Oh yeah, did I mention I lived with a couples' therapist for four years?"

"Ohhh," everybody chorused. That explained a lot.

"Well in any case, I need to go get drunk," Collins decided.

"Amen to that!" Mimi cheered.

"Anybody have money?" Mark asked hopefully.

"You do, Mr. Buzzline," Roger said grimly, throwing an arm around him. "Don't think you're getting away with this."

"How come Joanne never pays?" Mark complained. "She's got money."

"Because I've got Maureen," Joanne said, rolling her eyes.

"Her money's right here," Maureen announced, pointing to her new boots. "And here," she added, gesturing at the multitude of earrings and rings and necklace. "Oh, and a little bit here." She pointed to her left breast.

"TMI!" Angel declared, panicking. "TMI, TMI, TMI!" She tended to get a little bit crazy when Maureen did anything breast-related. In her defense, though, Maureen had done many crazy breast-related things.

"Oh don't worry, silly, it's just a new tattoo. See?" She pulled her shirt down a little bit--no bra--and pointed to a heart tattooed on her skin.

"Wow, Mo, I'm surprised at you. That's actually pretty tame," Mimi remarked. She didn't even have to completely flash people to show it off, unlike the stars on her ass.

"And look! If you look really closely, it's made up of Joanne's name!" Maureen declared proudly. They all paused and leaned forward to study Maureen's breast intently. Mark zoomed in.

"Nice," Roger approved.

"And now, I would like you all to stop ogling my girlfriend and go stuff yourselves full of vegan crap," Joanne said in a monotone voice. Collins threw an arm around her shoulder in a companionable manner.

"Don't worry, Jo, people ogle my girlfriend all the time," he said seriously. "But, alas, when you're dating Alphabet City's spirit of sexiness, you must make sacrifices."

"Damn right," Angel approved proudly, doing her Sexy Strut through the throng of businessmen on the street. Catcalls and whistles--mainly from Mimi and Roger, but with Maureen and Collins putting in their two cents as well--followed her.

And so, laughing, seven friends returned to the bohemian hellhole that was home.

(--)

Nine hours later, lunch had turned to dinner which had turned to drinking at the loft, and Angel was trying to lead a very intoxicated Collins home.

"Angel, Angel, Angel," Collins slurred, flinging both arms around her body. "Have I told you lately that I love you?"

"Yes, honey, you just told me two minutes ago. And you stole that from Rod Stewart."

"Did I? Huh. Well, anyway, I just wanted to say it. 'Cause, you know, you're just like… awesome." He nuzzled her neck happily and Angel couldn't help but laugh. He was so adorable when he was drunk. "You're so pretty and sweet. I-- I don't know what I'd do without you, baby. Like, seriously."

Angel pushed the button for the elevator, stroking the top of Collins' head sweetly. "Don't worry, honey, I'm not going anywhere."

"You promise?"

"Of course."

"And you promise you're never gonna get sick again, right?"

Angel quieted, kissing Collins' lips softly. "I promise." It had only been two weeks since the pneumonia scare, and they were just starting to get back into a regular routine. Collins almost never brought it up; the first night Angel was home, Halloween, they had stayed in bed all day, alternatively sobbing and kissing, and that was it. They were trying to forget.

They entered the small apartment and she led Collins to the bedroom, gently pushing him onto the bed. Collins had a set pattern when he was drunk--first he got really horny and rowdy, then slowly drifted into a sweet sleepiness that was quite cute. Angel kissed him lazily, undressing him until he was lying placidly in a tee shirt and boxers.

"I'll be right back, sweetheart. Don't fall asleep without me, all right?"

Angel grabbed a pair of pajamas and went to the bathroom. Humming to himself, he wiped every trace of makeup off his face and brushed through his wig with his fingers, removing it carefully. He changed into his pajamas--sweatpants, one of Collins' tee shirts--and went back to the bedroom. Collins was waiting, eyes closed, arms spread out. One arm was spread on the mattress, the other was at a ninety degree angle in the air. Chuckling, Angel laid down on top of Arm Number 1 and Collins snapped Arm Number 2 around him, giggling.

"Missed you, baby."

"I missed you too, Tommy. Do you want to sleep now?"

He yawned widely. "Not yet. 'M not that tired."

"All right."

There was a few minutes of silence as Collins rubbed the back of Angel's head slowly. It a habit when he was thinking. He rubbed everything in a totally kind, nonsexual manner--head, thighs, shoulder, neck. Angel was like a warm, breathing magic lamp. "Hey, Ang? Are you mad at me?" he mumbled thoughtfully.

"For what?"

"For ditchin' my dad this afternoon."

"No, Collins, I'm not mad. But I still want you to spend at least a little time with them, okay?"

"Why?"

Angel tried to shrug, but Collins was squeezing him too tight. "They're your family, _mi_ _rey_."

"Nuh-uh. Marky and Rog and Mo and Jo and Meems are my family. You already know all of them and I spend plenty of time with them, so no harm done. Besides, they love me more than my dad has since I was like four years old when I filled his briefcase with clam chowder. I used to think he was the coolest guy in the whole world." He paused, blushing. "I never told anyone that before."

"I know, but our little stitched-together family members all have real family too, except for us. They keep in contact with parents and siblings. You and me…" He sighed. "I moved in with my aunt at fourteen and I haven't seen my parents face-to-face since I was fifteen. Once in a while they call, but it's not the same, you know?"

Trying to comfort him, Collins gave Angel a kiss. It was a little sloppy, but it's the thought that counts, right? "You want to borrow my family, Angel? If it really means a lot to you, I guess we could share."

"Please."

"'Kay." Collins sighed happily, loosening his grip and shimmying down so he could use Angel's collarbone as a pillow. "G'night, _mi_ _reina_."

"Good night, _mi_ _rey_."

Collins curled into Angel's warm body, nuzzling his neck with another content sigh. Angel reached up and stroked the top of Collins' head lovingly, smiling to himself. They were both damn lucky. The gentle rhythm of Collins' breath against his collarbone was soothing, and Angel was on the brink of sleep when…

"Will you marry me?"

"What?" His eyes flew open in surprise to find Collins suddenly propped up on an elbow, looking at him thoughtfully. Did he just say what Angel thought he said?

"Will you marry me?" he repeated. "You said you would that one time, but then we didn't talk about it at all. I didn't even get you a ring or anything. 'Sides, I think you were joking, anyway. I wasn't."

"Believe me honey, if I could I would, but it's not really an option," Angel said gently.

"So we're engaged for a while, big deal," Collins scoffed. "Please, Angel? I wanna be your family."

See? Adorable. How could Angel resist when he was looking at him with that nervous, hopeful smile and the cute little funny-shaped head and those big puppy dog eyes that were just awash with compassion and hope and sweetness and simplicity and love and… what was his point again?

"Yes." He bent down and pressed his lips to the top of Collins' head. "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes." Each word was accompanied with a kiss, and suddenly Collins didn't seem so tired… or drunk. He reached up to slowly and seductively massage Angel's hips.

"Well if we can't really get married for a while, can we start the honeymoon now anyway?"

"Oh well, I don't know," Angel fluttered. He was concerned. Really. "I mean, you _are_ drunk and I would just hate to take advantage of my baby." Of course that hip thing might just change his mind…

"But I love you. Please take advantage of me, baby," Collins pouted.

"When you put it that way, kiss me and strip. Right now."

Who can refuse an order like that?

* * *

**A/N2: I can't help it; the demons of fluff got to me. I can't remember if I already said something, but 'mi rey' means 'my king' and 'mi reina' is 'my king'. Angelcake and Tommy are just a little too sugary-sweet for my taste.**

**Reviews are the woman in rubber to my nipple piercing.**


	5. A Personal Day

The next morning, Angel was sitting in a subway station with his back pressed against a cement wall and his pickle tub between his knees. There was a metal trash can within easy distance, but he pretty much left it alone--for now. It was only ten in the morning, so people preferred gentle background noise.

A fresh wave of people moved in, and Angel decided to start over, getting more creative. He began a steady rhythm by lifting and dropping the pickle tub, which got very little attention. Smiling privately, he started an irregular beat against the side of the drum, and then went crazy with the other drumstick. He had three beats going at once, which was a challenge, but it was just so damn fun! A few people took notice, and grinned, tapping their feet. Angel grinned too, his hand jerking out spastically to throw in a little metallic action.

Quarters dropped into a tiny mini-pickle tub at his feet (gotta love those dollar stores, huh?), even a dollar or two. Angel smiled at each person, thanking them, even though most of them were moving too fast to pay that much attention. A couple of people lingered, though--it was a shame to pay for two seconds of music.

Suddenly a ten dollar bill fluttered into the mini-tub. Angel gasped, losing the beat. "Oh, honey, you don't have to--"

"It's fine."

Angel looked up, still a little struck, and his eyebrows climbed even higher. "Jennifer! Oh, it's good to see you!"

Jennifer halted, obviously confused. "I-- I'm sorry, do I--?"

Angel chuckled. "You don't recognize me, that's okay. Angel." He held out a hand this time, smiling. "Sans makeup, I look a little different, huh?"

"Oh." She grew even more flustered and shook automatically. "Joseph's-- er, Tom's-- of course."

"Yeah. And I appreciate it, honey, but I really can't accept this." He tried to hand the money back and Jennifer backpedaled.

"No, it's quite all right. I don't mind."

Angel frowned, thinking, and then brightened suddenly. Another brilliant idea springs forth from the mind of a genius. "All right then, how about you and I go out for coffee? I really feel awful for leaving in the middle of lunch last week, but there was a little emergency."

"Oh no, I don't-- you're obviously busy--"

"That's the wonderful thing about having no job--you're never busy," Angel chuckled. "I insist. It's on you," he winked, waving the ten-dollar bill. Jennifer gave in, smiling weakly.

"Thank you."

(---)

They ended up sitting in a cozy little café full of overstuffed chairs and a wide variety of people--tourists, businessman, slightly-richer-than-starving artists--in a not-quite comfortable silence. Small talk had sufficed up until now, but Angel was determined to have a real conversation. Jennifer opened her mouth, undoubtedly to make another trivial observation on the weather or something, and he interrupted her quickly.

"Before you say anything, I want you to know that I understand if you're uncomfortable with me," Angel said seriously, his hands wrapped around a huge mug of coffee. "A lot of people aren't, and it's fine. I don't expect everybody I meet to be my best friend. I can tell that this whole situation is new for you, and I don't want you to be thinking that you're some kind of awful person because I know that's not the case."

Jennifer turned bright red. It clashed awfully with her salmon-colored shirt, but that served her right. No one should ever wear salmon. It was right up there with baby blue and beige on the 'WHAT THE HELL KIND OF TACKY YUPPIE COLOR IS THIS???' List. "Oh no, please don't," she protested. "I'm not uncomfortable at all, honestly."

Sure…

"I'm sorry, I was just caught … off guard. It was the, um--" She seemed to be struggling for a word, so Angel kindly supplied one.

"Drag."

"Yes." She was still red, but not quite as dark. More like… strawberry. "Normally I don't… this is my brother," Jennifer said simply, handing over a photo and discarding words all together. There were two men in the picture, both a little older than Jennifer. One was brunette, the other blonde, and the blonde's arms were wrapped around the other man's torso. They were both smiling brilliantly at the camera. Ah, love.

"There's a big difference between straight gay boys and gay gay boys," Angel smiled, giving the picture back. "Your brother's never dated a drag queen or come home covered in sequins and rainbows, huh?"

"No," Jennifer admitted.

"And therein lies the problem. It takes some getting used to, and I'd like to give you the opportunity to get to know me. If you want it, of course." Automatically, it seemed, Jennifer reached over and patted Angel's hand affectionately. It was a very soccer-mom kind of thing, but he didn't feel like objecting.

"Of course I do. Joseph is nearly my family and Tom _is_ his family and you're nearly his family, so that makes us nearly family, right?" she smiled warmly. Angel grinned, pleased. Progress.

"I thought so."

"Although I can't think for a moment why you would want to give me another chance," Jennifer continued, sipping her coffee delicately. "After that disastrous lunch."

"Honey, I don't think it could have been anything but disastrous," Angel laughed. "Considering the circumstances. Luckily, I've learned not to judge people based on first impressions. So I'm proposing a plan."

"A-- a plan?" There was that nervousness again!

"A plan. Obviously, there are some abandonment issues going on between our men, and we need to fix that. I know it may seem difficult, but trust me. The man may be the head of the family, but the woman is the neck, and she can turn the head any way she wants." Thank you, Abuela. "A few family events here and there, some pillow talk, they'll be eating out of our hands. And I say we start by getting you a wedding."

"Oh, I don't know if that's--" Jennifer started, but Angel waved her away.

"Don't even try to argue, Jen. Style is my specialty."

(---)

"Angel, I appreciate the help, but Joseph and I haven't even picked out a color scheme yet and I don't feel comfortable making decisions for _our_ wedding without him."

"Jen, honey, look around you. This is a bridal boutique. The chances of your fiancé helping you pick out a wedding dress are slim to none, so stop whining and let me take your damn measurements," Angel ordered for the third time.

Jen was proving more difficult than expected, though perhaps it was because Angel the Transvestite had made another appearance. Now Angel was wearing gold leggings and a white dress that was just a little itty bit over the top. Hey, you can't have a name like 'Angel' and not play around with it sometimes, right? At least she had left the wings at home… she and Collins would play with those later.

Jen turned bright red, and hustled over. Satisfied, Angel snapped open a measuring tape and began, poking and prodding instructions every once in a while. "I meant to go to the gym before looking for a dress…" Jennifer mumbled.

"Don't, honey, you're perfect," Angel assured her absently. She didn't notice how the compliment made Jennifer blush even more. "I really think you should set a date before picking out a dress, though. It makes a lot of difference."

"That's a difficult decision…"

"New Year's Eve or May second?"

"What?"

"Pick. Now. Don't think, pick!"

"But I--"

"Now!"

"They're both so close--"

"You've waited six years! Get married, now!"

"But--"

"No buts!"

"I don't--"

"You do!"

"I can't--"

"NOW!"

"New Year's!"

"Good. Now would you prefer a train or just a regular hem?"

"Oh… a train would be nice…" Jennifer mumbled, still a little dazed. What had just happened?

"Great. Stay right here, I'll go see if any of these are organized or if they're just randomly put on the racks." Whistling to herself, Angel browsed through the store, keeping an eye out for a saleswoman.

It was then they she caught sight of the most beautiful dress she had ever seen. The neck was high, the hemline was low, and the sleeves were long, but that only added to its charm. Every inch of fabric was covered in delicate, snow-like lace, and it looked lighter than air. Involuntarily, Angel reached out a hand and stroked the fabric, marveling at the ethereal feel of the whole thing.

_Christmas, _she thought. _We're getting married on Christmas, and I'm wearing this dress._ Then she caught sight of the price tag. Holy mother of Jesus. _All right, we're getting married on Christmas in fifty years once we can afford this dress and I'm wearing it, _she sighed. Pensively, she fingered her "engagement ring"--a mood ring in the shape of a heart that Collins had found buried in her jewelry box that morning. Like they could afford diamonds.

"That's a beautiful dress."

Angel jumped three feet in the air before she realized it was just Jennifer.

"Oh. Yeah." She gave it one last, longing look and turned in another direction. "I think we might want to look over here…"

Jen wasn't buying it. "Let me guess--you'd rather be planning your own wedding that mine right now?"

"I'd like to say no, but I can't. Every woman in the world would rather be planning her own wedding that somebody else's," Angel said with a slightly forced laugh, trying not to emphasize the word woman. She had to get used to it sometime, right?

"I wouldn't worry about it. You and Tom have only been together for, what, ten months?"

"Oh, _that's_ not the problem," Angel said with a shrug, flipping through a rack of gowns. "Collins proposed to me last night. It's the cost of the whole thing really, not to mention the legality. A civil union's all well and good, but it's not a marriage."

Jennifer looked shocked. "You're engaged? So soon?"

"We only have so much time, Jen. No day but today."

"But-- but you're both so young!"

Oh shiz-nit, Jen _and_ Joseph didn't know about the AIDS thing, did they? Oh well, the thousand-dollar lace gown made Angel too depressed to bring it up right now.

"I've had… difficulties in the past finding someone to accept me for who I am. So many people stereotype cross-dressers--by the way, I am _not_ a drag queen, there's a huge difference, remind me to explain later--and just about every stereotype is bad. Collins is one of the few people I've ever met who can love and accept me without a second thought, and I'm lucky for that. He makes me happy, and if I make him happy then there isn't a damn thing in the world that can keep me from sticking around," she said firmly. "Why wait?"

Jennifer smiled uncomfortably. Ten months compared to six years. Great.

**

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Reviews are the light to my candle, while update demands are the bum to my Range Rover. Please, get the bum's cyber-ass off of the cyber-Range Rover. (Did that make any sense…?)

**Ha! Light my Candle just started playing on shuffle!**

**So, uhh... this is mostly a filler chapter. Trust me, stuff happens. I have a PLAN! (shock!gasp!)**


	6. A Night Out With MarkiePoo

**Kudos to anyone who spots the special WJH reference in this chapter. This includes Clio95 (my sister), who spotted it before I posted. GET OFF MY COMPUTER!**

* * *

Collins dragged himself into the apartment and dropped his briefcase next to the door. "Angel, your man is home and he really needs a hug," he announced. Angel sashayed in from the kitchen and he held out his arms, pouting pitifully. "Hey, baby."

"Bad day?" she asked sympathetically, slipping into the hug. Collins groaned dramatically.

"So many bratty kids, so few good ones. And all--" He kissed her forehead. "I--" kiss cheek "wanted--" kiss nose "was to--" kiss other cheek "come--" kiss temple "home--" kiss corner of mouth "and--" kiss lips, long and slow "be with my girl."

Angel smiled and tugged him gently towards the couch. "That's sweet, honey, but… I kind of promised Mark we'd go out for a calm, non-crazy dinner tonight, just the three of us. He needs some time away from the couples."

"But… but we're a couple, aren't we?" Collins asked, pouting. He liked Mark a lot, but there are some days when third wheels were annoying.

"Not like _they_ are couples," Angel said meaningfully, and Collins understood. The difference between the two of them and MoJo/MiRo was the ability to be discreet. Some people (cough cough) couldn't go five minutes without making out or sitting on each other.

"Yeah, all right… we need to find Mark a girlfriend," he decided. "Seriously, I feel bad for the dude. He's not the kind whose meant to be alone."

"You mean human?" Angel offered with amusement, standing and patting Collins knee. "You've got forty-five minutes before Mark gets home and we head out. If you want, I could make a cup of tea, maybe work a few kinks out of that cute little body of yours."

"Angel, have I ever called you a goddess?" he sighed as she brushed his shoulder soothingly. Angel bustled around the kitchen and came back with a hot cup of tea. She handed it over and sat on the couch, poking Collins into a more favorable position for a massage. "So how did you spend your day, love?"

"I went shopping, duh."

"Duh," he agreed, chuckling. "Funny, when you raced out of the door this morning with barely a good-bye kiss I was under the impression you were hitting the streets with a drum."

"Well yeah, but…"

"And Mimi was helping Maureen redecorate her and Joanne's apartment all day, so I know she wasn't with you, and you hate shopping alone."

Angel paused, thinking. "Remind me never to keep a secret from you."

Collins grinned and turned around, resting his elbows on her knees. "Tell me, _mi_ _reina_. As the future Mrs. Thomas Collins, you should have no secrets from me and vice versa."

"I was shopping with my future in-law to the second degree, if you must know," Angel sniffed, swatting his shoulder gently. "Turn around, I'm not done."

Collins paused, and obeyed. "Who?"

"Your father's fiancée."

"You've got to be kidding me," he said, stunned. "But-- but I thought you said she was a conservatively-repressed-Angel-in-the-House-type tragedy?"

"Well yeah, but Mimi has an addictive personality, Roger obviously suffers abandonment issues, Maureen is an attention whore, Mark has a few masochistic tendencies, Joanne has control issues and I'm a man who needs to wear a dress in order to feel confident and happy with myself," she listed off casually. Angel leaned down and hugged him, resting her chin on his shoulder. "Nobody's perfect."

"I guess…" he admitted. There was a more important issue that had to be addressed first. "What about me?"

Angel smiled and stood, patting his shoulder. "You're flawless, baby. Drink your tea, I'm going to go get dressed."

"'Kay." Collins was patient for maybe twenty-five seconds. Then he stood and waited by the bedroom door. "Hey, Ang? What did you two talk about all day?"

"Wedding stuff, mostly," she responded absently. "I convinced her to set a date, we found a dress for the reception and I almost got her to choose a wedding dress. _So_ close."

"That's it?"

"What do you want to know, baby?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted. Something about the idea of Angel spending time with Jennifer was… unsettling. Maybe because Jennifer was the ultimate anti-boho, or her association with Joseph. That was enough to make anything seem suspicious.

"We talked about you a little," Angel offered. "Not much. Be prepared for a little scheming."

"Scheming?"

"Let's just say that Jen and I have similar views on family."

"Jen?"

Angel emerged from the bedroom, pulling her hair into a ponytail. "Yeah. Jen. Can you get this?" She held out a necklace and Collins fastened it around her neck obligingly.

"She doesn't seem much like the nickname type," he said dryly. Joseph wasn't--Collins had called him 'Joe' since age nine expressly for that purpose. And, years of separation aside, Collins knew his father well enough to know that the man would never choose a wife who was in any way imperfect. Counseling was too much work, which was why he had gotten divorced in the first place.

"Maybe you should have a conversation with her," Angel suggested testily. "Because I've heard a lot of people say that I don't seem like the sane and kind type, and I've proved them wrong dozens or possibly hundreds of times."

"All right, all right," Collins sighed. "I get your point. It's just-- my dad likes her. And everyone my dad's ever liked, I've hated. There was the oil engineer's daughter, the meat packer's daughter, the reverend's daughter, the mayor's daughter, the unemployed rich man's daughter. He targets nice-looking women who let him walk all over them and have traditional, conservative values and I haven't found a single likable one among the lot."

"I like her," Angel said firmly, turning and planting a quick kiss on his lips. "Try."

"I will."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Pinky promise?"

"Come on, Ang," he pleaded. She pouted and held out a demanding pinky. Collins sighed, and hooked it. "Pinky promise. Now let's go, Mark's lonely."

"We've got time," Angel dismissed. She wrapped her arms around Collins' neck and kissed him again, longer--just a little tension relief. He was only too happy to oblige, and she found herself smiling as she ended it. "I love you," she reminded him.

"Love you too, babygirl," he said fondly. "Come on, let's get Mark a little lovin' of his own."

(---)

"Hi, are you single? Straight? Awesome! I have a friend named Mark, he's really sweet and he makes movies. Here's a picture and here's his number. What's your name? All right, thanks Julie!" Collins scribbled the name onto a clipboard, pulled another photo from his pocket, and Angel moved on to the next table. "Hi, are you single? Straight? Oh, sorry, all my lesbian friends are taken. Thanks anyway!"

Angel moved on, but Collins paused. "Hold on, can I get your name and number anyway? Half of the couple is a bisexual fickle drama queen, so better safe than sorry. Oh no, don't worry, the other half's a respectable young lawyer, she's cool. A little uptight, but that never really killed anybody. Cool, thanks."

"Collins! Photo!"

"Got it!"

"Um… guys?" Mark asked, confused. Angel turned with a grin and waved.

"Hi, Mark! Come on, our table's over here."

Mark made his way to the table, confused. Every woman on the path from the door to the table greeted him by name, giggling. "What did you guys do?"

"Her idea," Collins said with a shrug, handing over the clipboard. "It was cheaper than reality TV."

"Oh come on, you guys really think I can't get a date myself?"

"How long's it been since you had sex?" Angel shot back. Collins and Mark both looked at her, shocked, and she blushed. "What, only straight guys can be crude?"

"Good point. Spill it, Marky."

"If you guys are going to gang up on me, then I'm leaving," Mark threatened, dropping his stuff onto a chair. "I mean it. I've had enough of being the odd man out."

"All right, we'll back off," Angel promised.

"Honey darling, he doesn't want us ganging up!" Collins protested. "All 'we's must become 'I's. Therefore, Mark, _I_ make no guarantees."

"I appreciate it, man," Mark said, rolling his eyes.

"No problem. Beer or wine?"

"Coke."

A random waitress appeared out of nowhere with a grin. "Got it. Hi, I'm your waitress, Kristin, and I have awesome timing. And you?" she directed at Collins.

"Beer's fine for me."

"All right." The woman turned to Angel, who was eyeing her shrewdly. "Can I take your drink?" she asked, suddenly nervous.

If she could read Angel's mind, undoubtedly Kristin would be terrified. Inside, there was a mental checklist. Sense of humor: check. Lack of high-handedness: check. Prettiness: check. Angel nodded to herself, and gestured for the woman to come a little bit closer. Kristin obliged, and Angel stretched up to whisper her order in her ear, subtly slipping a business card into her little notepad. Muttering something else, her eyes flickered to Mark and back.

Mark paled. "Angel, what are you doing? ANGEL!"

"What? I, um, have very specific drink requirements. No ice, extra lemons, extra fizzness. I just wanted to make sure she got it all."

"Don't worry," Kristin said, biting her lip. "I'll make sure everything's satisfactory."

She walked away with a smile and a giggle, brushing her hand on Mark's shoulder as she walked by. All three bohos watched the movement, and Collins whooped. "She likes you! Oh my God, my little Marky's growing up! And the meal has only just begun."

"I canNOT believe you just did that," Mark said weakly. "I need to get alcohol now!"

"I'm sorry, honey, I just can't help it," Angel shrugged. "I'm a schemer. Besides, I find it ridiculous how you can climb on tables without embarrassment but flirting is a death march. Someday, when you and Kristin naming your third kid after me, you'll feel grateful."

"Unless of course the third kid is a boy," Collins interrupted. "In which I call namesake."

"Collins Cohen? That's a sucky name," Mark protested. Collins thought it over deeply.

"All right, fine… Thomas would be acceptable. But only as a middle name."

"Duly noted. Can we change the subject now?"

"Sure, Markie."

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**This chapter was difficult for me, because there was tension. ****TENSION****! Yeah, for those of you who thought this was going to be a perfect-relationship fic, ya might wanna leave now. There will be fighting… balanced out by fluff, of course. So forgive me for the jump-the-shark-esque dating plan. I needed to fulfill my chapterly humor/fluff quota. Reviews are the black leather to my lace.**

**NOTICE: Guys, I am a hundred thousand million percent sorry to say this, but this story has to be put on a SHORT hiatus. I have CAPT testing (for those of you outside of CT, suffice to say it's a nasty, two-week long standardized test), the next chapter is being very stubborn, and I'm working on a project right now that requires me to write about ten poems a day. I don't know how long it will be before I update, but I swear it won't be more than three weeks at the LATEST.**

**However, I do promise to update as soon as I've written the next few chapters--no matter the day. In fact, I'll update once I get ahead and then again that Wednesday. Again, sorry sorry sorry. :*(**


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